


call me

by darkenedmammal



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Post-Game(s), Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 07:05:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16300373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkenedmammal/pseuds/darkenedmammal
Summary: He thinks back to the conversation he had last week; recalls a closed food truck and a table, the icy chill and crisp November air. He thinks back to Hank.





	call me

**Author's Note:**

> hey!! this is my first time posting fanfic in like, 5 years so i hope you like this little oneshot of mine :) 
> 
> rated t for hank's swearing.

Connor lies awake on the bed. It is: 

11:53:25

11:53:26

11:53:27 pm. 

 

He stares at the ceiling. 

He should enter stand-by mode, drift into a scheduled nothingness for the night. 

He doesn’t.

Instead, he thinks.

 

He thinks back to the conversation he had last week; recalls a closed food truck and a table, the icy chill and crisp November air. He thinks back to Hank.

 

_ “So, do you have any uh, plans, now that you’re some sort of android rebel?”  _

_ Connor considers this; he does not have directives from Cyberlife to follow anymore.  _

_ “I may continue to assist Markus with the aftermath of the revolution, but otherwise I do not.” his voice is even and calm as always. _

 

_ He is not even and calm inside.  _

 

_ He meets Hanks eyes and smiles softly anyways, lips turning upwards crookedly,  _

_ “Also, I’m a  _ deviant _ , not a rebel.” _

 

Connor sits up, looks around the room, tries not to think about how he’d nearly stuttered on the word, the label awkward on his tongue even after weeks of using it to refer to other androids. 

 

The walls are gray in the dim light coming through his window, stark and plain.  

They remind him of his storage unit at Cyberlife headquarters.

 

He thinks of Hank instead.

 

_ “Deviant, rebel, whatever. You’re definitely opposing authority at this point.” Hank shifts in place, leaning on the table and breathing warm air into his gloved hands before continuing, “Anyways, if you wanted to, I think I could hound Fowler’s ass enough to get you back at the precinct.”  _

 

_ Connor realizes the fact that being a detective is the only thing he’s ever known.  _

 

_ He nods, “I think I would like that. To come back.”  _

 

_ Hank shivers from a gust of chill wind and bobs his head in agreement, looking around. Connor mimics him, noting how the morning sun reflects over the sheets of undisturbed snow. The streets of Detroit are empty after the mass exodus.  _

 

_ Connor begins to drift back to a memory of blowing ice and snow, to terror gripping his thirium pump, to Amanda’s voic- _

 

_ Hank brings him back to reality, direct as always, “Do you have anywhere to stay? It’s fucking cold out.” he buries his face into his coat, but his eyes show he’s waiting for Connor’s reply.  _

 

_ He thinks of a house, where a hard-boiled eccentric detective and his dog live. He thinks of beer bottles and Russian roulette. Something stops him from telling the truth that no, he doesn’t. “I believe Jericho can supply me with that for now” Hank nods again, makes a noise of agreement.  _

 

_ Connor doesn’t miss the emotion in it, but he refuses to accept that it is disappointment.  _

 

He’d been right, at least. 

They’d repurposed buildings, set up individual rooms for as many as they could. Connor had been there as Simon, Josh, North and Markus discussed getting government help for shelter, listened to them mention that there were more and more newly homeless androids arriving every day, looking for somewhere they could safely rest without freezing to the point of malfunction. Connor had felt guilty to ask for a room then. 

 

He feels guilty now.

 

_ Hank’s phone had buzzed, and he’d sworn as he read the message. “Fowler’s calling me to the precinct. Half the force got the hell out of dodge so they’re understaffed.” Connor had straightened up immediately, dusted the snow off his jacket, “I won’t keep you here then, Lieutenant.”  _

 

_ The man shook his head, “Just call me Hank already, kid.”  _

 

_ His phone had buzzed again, and a few more times accompanied by a series of angry pings. “Fuck, can’t they wait five minutes? Sorry Connor, guess I do gotta go.” He’d nearly gotten to the car when he’d suddenly turned back, walking over urgently as he fumbled to pull something out of his pockets.  _

 

_ First, a crumpled receipt, next, a pen.  _

 

_ “Here, gimme a second” He’d placed the receipt on the icy table, flattening out the paper with one hand as he scrawled out a series of numbers with the other before handing it to Connor. “It’s my phone, call me if you need anything, yeah? Keep in touch and shit.” _

 

_ “Stay safe out there, you hear?” he’d called out as he’d slammed the door of his car.   _

 

Connor finished playing back the memory. 

It was illogical of Hank to write down his number, simply telling it to Connor would’ve been enough for him to memorize it. 

 

In the dim city light, Connor sat on the edge of the bed. He unfolded his jacket from where it lay by his side, reaching into the pocket even though he  _ had  _ memorized it instantly. The receipt was covered in creases and clearly old, but the phone number was newer, cleaner. Letters underneath had smudged where inevitably, a snowflake must’ve landed on them. He looked at the empty gray walls and the creaking bed. Looked at the way his hands caused wrinkles in the paper. 

 

_ “Call me if you need  _ anything,  _ yeah?” _

 

It was late. The lieutenant was probably already asleep. Humans actually needed to do so, unlike him. Somehow though, he imagined the Lieutenant wouldn’t be in bed at this hour. 

Still, Connor didn’t call.

 

The receipt crinkled under his grip. 

What if he had been wrong? What if there had been no disappointment? What if Hank was merely being polite when he asked about Connor’s plans, when he said to call him? 

 

Then he thought of the strong arms pulling him into the first hug he’d ever experienced in his few months of existence.

 

He connects to the network, dials the number; waits as the phone rings in his mind. The tone buzzes between his ears and he nearly hangs up when it suddenly connects, 

 

“Lieutenant Anderson?”

_ “Fuck, do you know what time it is? Who is this?” _

“It’s Connor” 

_ “Shit, kid? What’s up? You alright?” _

 

Because Connor  _ does  _ need “anything”

 

“Could I come over tomorrow?” 

**Author's Note:**

> feedback appreciated and let me know if you spot a typo or something!


End file.
